Getting My Head On Straight
by accio.awesomeness
Summary: Feeling guilty for neglecting Harry after he passes out in a Quidditch match, Oliver and Hermione have a chat. "Should've come to you sooner, Hermione. Seems like you managed to get my head on straight far more effectively than my mates." Oneshot!


**A/N: Hey, all! It's been a while since my last fic, innit?**

**Well, I'm not uber-proud of this, but I think it's pretty okay-okay considering how HORRIBLY busy I've been of late. Seriously, I hate school. Credits go to Zombie Reine for the idea. I hope this matches up to your expectations!**

**Also, I have a question for anyone patient enough to actually read this note: I'm currently writing a Sirius/OC fic with about six chapters done. Although I have a mostly-clear idea of the plot and am uber-hyped about it, I'm suffering a serious case of writers' block. So the question is, should I post the chapters and let my readers pressure me into updating regularly, even if it's a really saddo chapter? Or just finish the whole story like I'd planned and THEN post? **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah yeah yeah. It's just a formality, we all know I don't own Harry Potter. -"**

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><p>Little did her friends know, but the truth of the matter was that Viktor Krum did <em>not<em>, in fact, give Hermione Granger her first kiss.

_Wood looked as though he could have kissed her._

"_Brilliant!" he called hoarsely after her as she disappeared into the crowd._

Shielding her head, Hermione hurried through the pouring rain and back to the stands. She was glad it was there, to be honest, because otherwise, all and sundry would be able to see the furious blush that coloured her cheeks.

No one, not even Ginny, knew of the brain-melting crushing she harboured for the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and she herself was most annoyed by the development. Normally, the sole focus of her attention was on studies, but an irritatingly large proportion of that attention had suddenly turned to innocent fantasies of Oliver Wood.

She sat back in the stands, the image of Oliver's smile lingering in her mind. Ginny, sitting beside her, shot her an odd look. She said something, but Hermione didn't catch it over the combined roaring of the wind and the crowd, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know anyway.

Hermione waited on tenterhooks as Harry ducked and swerved through the clouds. She had never much liked flying – the idea of being fifty feet up with only a thin stick of wood terrified her – but she had always been able to appreciate the game of Quidditch. The players had so much skill and flair that it was a treat to watch them. _Especially_ the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, although she couldn't see him very well through the lashing rain.

All of a sudden, an odd feeling blossomed in Hermione's mind, a feeling of extreme despair. She vaguely recognised the feeling, and as she turned to Ginny in alarm, she realised Ginny was feeling it, too. Like clockwork, all in the vicinity turned and looked up at the sky.

Hundreds upon hundreds of black, hooded figures were swooping down upon the Quidditch pitch. _Dementors!_ Hermione thought, panicked. Not for herself – for Harry. She remembered only too well his last encounter with Dementors – screaming and thrashing around, all ending with him passing out in the Hogwarts Express.

"Harry! Harry!" she and Ginny screamed, watching as the black-haired boy tumbled, as if in slow motion, off his broom and towards the ground, over fifty feet below. From across the pitch, a silver-haired figure rose to his feet, brandishing a wand. The speed of Harry's fall slowed dramatically, but even the lashing rain couldn't block out the _thud_ when Harry hit the ground.

In a flurry of panic, Hermione only half-remembered rushing down to the pitch and pushing blindly through crowds to reach Harry. She remembered someone – Ginny, she thought – clutching her left hand and another person holding her right – not Ron, he was opposite her. In the aftermath of Harry's fall and Gryffindor's loss, however, the mystery of the hand-holder was thrown completely out of her mind.

It was late, that was all Hermione knew. Ron was asleep on Harry's other side, snoring so loudly she wondered it didn't wake Harry from his unconsciousness.

She was exhausted, yes, but she couldn't seem to fall asleep. Resting her head on the mattress next to Harry's side, she closed her eyes and attempted to drift off, Harry's hand held tightly in both of hers. No luck.

Just as her thoughts were becoming muddled and she began to drift off into oblivion, soft footsteps interrupted her attempt at sleep. Crossly, she raised her head to glare at the owner of the offending footsteps.

Brown hair, brown eyes, muscular…. Hermione's glare slid off her face as she realised who she was looking at.

"I – Wood," she stammered.

"Hello, Hermione," he said softly, his Scottish accent making her tingle with pleasure. "What're you doing awake?"

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, surprised that her voice was a steady as it was.

"Worried about Harry?" he asked, pulling up another chair and settling down beside her. The room was cold and the sudden warmth made her realised exactly how cold her body was. She shivered involuntarily, hugging herself.

There was a swish of fabric and something heavy and warm dropped around her shoulder. She glanced at the red-and-gold Quidditch cloak and smiled. "Thanks," she told him, hugging it around her. "But won't you be cold?" She surreptitiously sniffed the material as she said this – it smelled _fantastic. _

"Nah, I'll be fine," he replied, his eyes on Harry. A silence ensued, but not an awkward one. Hermione felt oddly comfortable with him and she leaned forward again, resting her head on her arm.

"You know," he said after a moment, "I'm feeling real guilty right now."

"Why?"

"After the match, when I went to shower," he began, "All I could think about was that we lost because of the Dementors and that prat Diggory won. I didn't think about Harry, about getting his broom back, anything."

"But why are you feeling guilty?" Hermione asked. "You're here now, isn't that what's important? After all, being the Captain of the team, you're bound have Quidditch higher on your priority list."

"I… I suppose so," Wood said hesitantly, "but part of being a good Captain is caring for your teammates too."

"You tried to catch Harry when he fell," Hermione offered. She wasn't sure _why_ she was trying to hard to absolve him of guilt, but she felt an urge to.

"I should have seen it coming. I heard about what happened on the Hogwarts Express with the Dementors."

"You're not a miracle worker. I didn't even see the Dementors coming! One second they were there and the next they weren't."

"But I still should have - "

"Oliver," Hermione said gently, but wearily. "What happened, happened. There's not going back and changing it. You couldn't have seen the Dementors coming, just as you couldn't have stopped Harry's fall. He's going to recover and we still have a chance of winning the Quidditch Cup. So just… let it go."

Oliver blinked, twice.

"I should've come to you sooner, Hermione," he said softly. "Seems like you managed to get my head on straight far more effectively than my mates."

Hermione took in all six-foot-something of him, slumped back in the chair the way he was. "You're welcome," she said quietly. "And I'm glad you think so."

There was silence in the hospital wing again. Both Oliver and Hermione sneaked glances at each other every few seconds, and Hermione was glad of the darkness, for it hid her crimson cheeks.

"How long have you been sitting here?" Oliver asked suddenly, his deep voice abruptly ripping through the velvety silence and making her jump.

"I don't know. Several hours?" she replied sleepily.

"Your bum will be flat from all that sitting. D'you want to go for a walk?" he asked. He rose from his seat and looked down at her, his dark eyes burning even in the darkness.

"I'd like to," Hermione admitted, "but what if we get caught?"

"Disillusionment Charms," he replied, tapping her sharply on the head with his wand as she stood. A strange feeling crept down her body; like a waterfall of icy water, and after two minutes, she looked down at herself and gasped – she wasn't there! She blended in perfectly with her surroundings.

"Teach me," she begged. He laughed, his chuckle reverberating around the room.

"I will. As soon as we get outside." Casting the charm on himself, the two of them set out for the Entrance Hall. Luck was on their side; the door was open.

Slipping out into the cool night air, Hermione sighed and rolled her shoulders. They ached from being hunched over Harry's bed for too long. Strolling down to the beech tree by the lake, she stood staring over the icy water and attempting to give herself a massage.

All of a sudden, warm hands replaced hers on her shoulders. She sighed into the massage, letting Oliver ease the tension in her shoulders away.

"Thank you," she said when he was done, spinning in his half-embrace to face him. "I feel much better now."

"That was my pleasure, Hermione," he told her, his breath misting in the air in front of him.

Hermione watched him carefully. His hair was mussed up and slightly damp and his lips were reddish from biting, and slightly chapped. Taken over by a sudden stab of boldness, she reached up and fixed his hair, running her fingers gently through the silky locks. He closed his eyes at her motions and unconsciously leaned into her hand.

"You'll catch a cold if you stay out here with damp hair," she told him, feeling the moisture on her fingers.

"I'll get back inside soon, Mum," he said with a jokey grin. Hermione drew her hand back, hurt that he had ruined the mood so effectively.

"Oh," Oliver said, seeing her face, "don't take it like that, Hermione, it was a joke, that's all."

"I know," she said, but she turned away all the same and faced the lake, picking up a handful of pebbles and skipping them across the crystalline surface.

"Hey," he said suddenly, wrapping two large hands around her waist and spinning her around to face him again. "Joke. Okay?" He waited for her nod and softening face before continuing. "Do you know what I was thinking today? When you gave us that nifty charm?" he asked suddenly.

His face was drawing nearer, and Hermione's breath came shorter. "What?" she breathed.

"I was thinking that I'd like to kiss you. If we hadn't had a game to finish, I would've, right then and there."

A shock flared through her body, warming up her frozen limbs as he said the words.

"I guess it's a bit late now, though?" she squeaked, aiming for a flippant tone but achieving more of a despairing one.

"It's never too late for a kiss," he breathed, and his lips loomed above hers.

He kissed her so sweetly it took her breath away. Inexperienced as she was, even she could tell that she couldn't have asked for a better first kiss. His lips were soft, warm, pleasing in the harsh, freezing air.

When he broke away, he looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, I got a bit ahead of myself…"

"No," she interrupted. "I didn't mind." She blushed almost immediately, but didn't try to rephrase her sentence.

His answering grin was short-lived, however, as reality came around to smack him in the face. "Listen – Hermione. I – I know I might've given you the wrong impression, but… you know this – _us – _isn't possible, right?" His eyes peered sadly out at her from beneath a tangle of hair.

"I know," she said as serenely as she could manage past the lump in her throat.

"It's just, I'm too involved in Quidditch to pay the attention to you that you deserve," he said, explaining even though she already knew his reasons. She wasn't the smartest witch of the generation for nothing. He rambled on in the background, but she didn't pay attention, half of her content with accepting the decision and half of her wanting to scream, "_No! Stay with me! I don't care if you can't pay as much attention to me as I'd like!"_

_But maybe in the future sometime…_ a third voice whispered. She tried to envision it, and yes, she could see a day where she would meet Oliver in - maybe a café or a bookshop, say – and they would go out on dates, and reminisce about their Hogwarts days… yes, she could see it.

Realising that Oliver was still babbling away, trying not to hurt her feelings, she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him quickly before she could lose her nerve. "I _know_, Oliver. Maybe… maybe sometime in the future."

She attempted a bright smile, but her lips were turned down at the corners. She gave it up as a bad job and hugged him instead, taking the last memory of his lean, hard body with her before she walked away.

He looked after her as she walked away, thinking about what she had said. _Maybe sometime in the future._

Yeah, maybe sometime in the future. And in the meantime, he had Quidditch, he had good mates and – well, no one said there was anything wrong with friends with benefits, did they?


End file.
